


Just Pray

by Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel in the Bunker, Castiel-centric, Crisis of Faith, Destiel - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Mark of Cain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 12:44:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2733005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me/pseuds/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is desperate ... a human emotion that is becoming all too familiar. He shouldn't be this weak, he shouldn't be this helpless. He's an angel-- he should have the answers.</p><p>But he has none. He has nothing to offer so he turns to the only thing in all creation who might. The only problem is, He might not be listening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Pray

               Castiel stares at the floor, wondering for a moment if he should even bother; but he knows he’s lost. There are no more options for him, and if this were five years ago, he would have never questioned asking his father for guidance. He plops down hard, letting the concrete smash into his knees, sending stabbing pains throughout his vessel. The borrowed grace thrumming inside him is cruel—allowing him to _feel_ more. It ensures that each human nerve fires off with the same intensity that it would before anything holy gripped onto it. He takes one last look around the tiny store room, one of many that are scattered throughout the bunker. He hopes, this one is far enough away from the main hall, that the boys will have no possibility of hearing him. He sighs deeply, holding in his breath before closing his eyes, letting the air slip from his lips, slowly.

                “Hello, Father.”

                Hesitation and doubt start to wrack his muscles. Cas shakes his head, clasping his hands together, trying to will away the thoughts that no one is listening; trying to believe that he is talking to more than just old jars and dusty boxes. He needs to believe that somewhere, either in heaven or on earth—or even in the blackness of space, his creator is out there _with his ears on_ , as Dean would say. He has to be there, because if he isn’t, if he’s really and truly gone, then that might mean, Dean will be gone too.  

              “I need your help, Father. I need your guidance. If you can hear me, if you still care for your children, for your angels—please, listen.” Castiel’s voice grows deeper and more vivid with each word. His old rhythm flowing back through him as the familiarity of this one sided conversation eases his mind. “You have brought me back so many times, Father. At least, I _need_ to believe it was you. You have brought me back and the only reason I can find for you doing so is for _him._ ” Cas’s head droops as Dean enters his mind. All the times he has looked upon the man’s face from behind shadows and the thickness of air. All the times he watched the wayward Winchester, when the man thought he was alone. He knows him better than anyone, even better than Sam. Castiel has heard Dean speak to himself—in the Impala, in the seclusion of his room. He has heard the man’s deepest concerns that he would never share with the world. He thinks of all the times he wanted to show himself to Dean. How he wanted to come out from behind his cloak and rest his hand on the man’s shoulder, but he knew Dean would close off if he did. No, the best way he could help him, was by listening in, watching with invisible eyes and then bringing Dean what he needed later on. And if the man ever asked Castiel how he knew, Cas would just say it was intuition, or that he heard Dean’s prayers.

                “Father, I raised him. I have healed him. I- I have beaten him when it was necessary; and I have failed him more times than I can count; but he has always accepted my apology … and you have always brought me back to him—like I am here now.” Castiel takes a deep breath, trying to compose his words. He stiffens his spine, determined to stay the good soldier he was made to be. “This time however … this time I don’t know what to do. I can’t find the answer anywhere. That mark …” His palms begin to ache and the repressed desperation mounts in his throat, making his voice crack. “That mark is killing him. It’s killing everything good inside him and I don’t know how to stop it!” He shuts his eyes tighter, feeling his vessel sweat as his stolen grace boils in its veins. “Please! Please …  tell me how to help him. Tell me how to save him … I need to save him. I—I need to …”

                Cas stops himself, he has to stop. The schism within him widens every time he lets the thought start to form. The part of him that isn’t angel, the part of him that isn’t human—the foreign thing that he can never place and always feels empty and too full all at once, is beginning to rear its head. The times he let it through, it has nearly got him killed, or he has been killed. It has risked everything angelic in him. Meg, April—they were the byproducts of it. This _emotion_ , for lack of a better term, has put him in the deadly grasp of demons and murderous reapers. Yet, for the moments between poor judgment and death, he fed the beast. He fed it and it felt almost _good._ A fond smile twitches at the corner of his mouth before he shakes it away, trying to focus again at the task at hand.

                “If you made me to fight for the right things, and if you brought me back even after all the times I have failed my missions, I can only believe that you brought me back to complete the one mission that is still ongoing. He is … Dean is still alive. We cured his soul from being demonized. We raised him from hell! He cannot be taken down by a mark!” Anger starts to circle around his fear, choking it out— making him sound like the warrior once more. “We can’t let him! _I_ can’t let that happen to him! Father, please … tell me how to save him. If there is anything I can do correctly, if there was ever a mission I needed to succeed in—this would be it. Father, show me how … give me a sign. Please, anything …”

                Castiel opens his eyes and looks at his hands. His knuckles are white and he feels the dull ache and sting of the blood trying hard to pump through his tightened fingers. The air in the store room seems wet and thick, making his chest tight. He can barely breathe.  He lets his glare dance back and forth while he listens, hoping he’ll hear the ringing of something divine. Silence consumes the room. Nothing happens. No one is listening. He lets his chin drop inside his collar; he isn’t surprised. A warmth falls down his cheeks and Cas slowly understands that his vessel is crying, at least, he tells himself it’s his vessel; even though, he knows, deep down, that it’s _him_ making those tears.

                “Cas?”

                Dean’s voice nearly topples him over, making him grind his knees on the concrete even more, letting the loud pop of his joints echo off the walls.

                “Dean, I uh … I didn’t hear you coming.” Cas sputters, pulling himself upright, using the back of his sleeve to clean up his face.

                “Yeah, well, you were too busy praying.”

                Cas looks up at the man filling the doorway, before tearing his gaze away, embarrassed that the only thing listening to him, was Dean.

                “How much … how much did you hear?” Cas whispers, still staring at the back of the store room.

                “Enough.” Dean says coolly.

                “Dean …”

                “Cas, man, you don’t need to explain anything to me. You’re an angel. I would kind of expect you to talk to God. Even if we know he might not be there.”

                Castiel turns his back, not wanting Dean to see how much that hurt him. He knows God might not be there, but hearing the man say it out loud brings out the wrathful soldier inside him.

                “He could be listening … he might still be out there” Cas retorts, shooting a piercing glance to Dean from the corner of his eye.

                “Yeah, man, you’re right. He could be. Anything is possible, I suppose.” A gentle smile graces Dean’s face and Castiel feels his shoulders soften.  “I hope he hears you man, for your sake more than anything.”

                “What do you mean, _for my sake?_ ” Castiel bristles again, wondering if this is Dean talking, or if the mark is starting to take hold.

                Dean peels himself off the door frame, taking small, calculated steps towards the angel. His eyes holding steady onto Castiel’s face. Cas stands his ground, feeling the schism widen as Dean closes the gap.

                “Look, I don’t know if God is still around …” Dean offers, taking a final step towards Castiel, making him land just a couple inches from the angel’s face, “but I know you want him to be there. I know, that in your angel-way, you need him to be there. It’s programmed in you, man, and if he is suddenly _gone_ , I know that will be really tough. So yeah, I hope, for your sake, he’s listening.”

                Cas looks away again, slowly understanding that Dean is being kind. The mark is staying concealed for now—dormant beneath the folded flannel of Dean’s sleeve. Yes, this is all just Dean speaking. Good hearted, kind, _Dean_ —the _Dean_ that needs to be protected from the evil thing scarring his body.

                “I hope so too.” Cas whispers.

                “But, hey, as for me and this mark … don’t worry. We’ll figure something out. We always do.”

                Cas looks back at the man, bewildered at his optimism. “Dean, this isn’t some monster you can throw salt at. You won’t be able to find the answer to this in your father’s journal. We don’t know what this is or how to stop it. It has already turned you into a demon! Who knows what else it is capable of!”

               Dean’s face is closer somehow and Cas realizes that he has inched towards the man in his panic. A habit that he has tried to quit but somehow, his desperation always pulls him into Dean.

                “I know, Cas. I know this won’t be easy, but neither was the apocalypse, or Abbadon. None of it was easy, but we are still here. _I_ am still here. It’s crazy and messed up and we all got torn to shit because of it, but we made it. That has to be enough for us to go on.” Dean’s voice starts to boom, like it usually does when he gets off on a tangent. “You are always talking about faith, man. Have faith that we’ll beat this.”

                Castiel pulls in closer, and the schism nearly breaks him in two. He can feel Dean’s breath roll from his lips, he can sense the atoms move around the man’s skin. Even with all the scars and with the mark burning his flesh, he can sense Dean’s certainty. The man truly believes what he is saying.

                “Do you trust me? Do you believe that we can solve this?” Dean asks, leaning down a bit to pull Castiel back into his eye-line.

                “Of course I trust you, Dean  …“

                “But?” Dean cuts in, knowing Cas too well.

                “But, this mark! “ Cas spits out, grabbing Dean’s arm and lifting his sleeve. He lets his thumb run over the calloused scar, the power burning his strange grace.  “Why did you take this on? I hate this mark!”

                A small laugh fills the air and Castiel looks up to see Dean, bouncing and shaking his head. Angry tears start to collect in the rims of Cas’s eyes. He cannot see how anything could be humorous about this situation. The unknown beast divides him further, and he tightens his grip on the man’s arm. Dean slacks his face a little, but the shadow of a smile still carries on his cheeks.

                “Dean, this isn’t funny” Cas hisses, holding an unblinking stare on his green eyes.

                “I know _this_ isn’t funny—“ Dean chuckles, nodding towards the limb still wrapped up in Castiel’s fingers, “but you are.  Sometimes, man … sometimes you sound like my worried wife. You know that, right?” Dean laughs again.

                Cas lets go, stepping back a bit and turning around. He feels himself break; the humanity inside him tears its last seam from his halo, dropping to his feet. The beast writhes and claws his insides. Realization cuts at his bones and stabs at his muscles. If he could spread his wings, he would fly away but he feels clipped. He hears Metatron’s voice ring back through his head, and he understands, for maybe the first time, what he meant. _Love_. The beast has a name; and with a name, it has all the power it needs to burst Castiel from the inside. His atoms are separating, threatening to split him open and let the stolen grace, the little bits of himself—the lessons he has learned while here on earth—all of it, just dissipate into nothingness. Dean sees it, even if he doesn’t truly believe it yet, he sees the reason Castiel watched him from the shadows, rebelled against his own kind, lost everything that has made him an angel. He sees it and he just made Castiel see it too.

                “Cas?”

                “I should go.” Cas grunts, turning around to push by the man, trying not to lean into Dean’s skin as he does.

                “Cas, c’mon man, you can’t be upset by that! I was just joking! It was a joke!”

                Cas powers down the hall, trying to get away from him before he falls apart completely.

                “Cas! Really?”

                Castiel feels Dean fill the air behind him, and he quickens his pace. Knowing he could fly away but doesn’t and he isn’t quite sure why.

                “Cas!” Dean grabs his arm, stopping him cold and whipping him around.

                Castiel wobbles slightly on his heels, making him grab Dean’s shoulder, like he had done all those years ago in hell, his hand still thrumming with the heat of the memory. Before he can question it, the beast pulls the man into him, leaning Cas’s forehead against those freckles. He looks down at Dean’s lips before closing his eyes. Cas feels Dean still himself, holding his breath, and his words for the first time since he came down here. They stand together—Cas, holding tightly to Dean, and Dean, still gripping the angel’s arm … their faces, only a breath apart.

                _“Um,_ Cas?” Dean finally gasps, unable to keep his breath trapped any longer.

                Castiel doesn’t answer. For the first time in years, the beast is quiet. He sinks into the peace he feels inside, the schism closing up the more he presses into Dean. Castiel shifts closer, his nose pushing into Dean’s cheek.  He holds himself steady, knowing that any moment, Dean will push him away. He needs to revel in this while he can. He wants to be selfish, causing a slight tinge of guilt to pinch at his temples. An angel isn’t supposed to think of himself, he isn’t supposed to be aware of what is happening on his insides, but _he_ is.

                “Cas, I—I, um …”

                Cas sighs as the outside world bites at his ankles, breaking him apart little by little. Dean shifts awkwardly against him and he knows, he has to let him go. He isn’t built for this, neither of them are. They are warriors. They sacrifice themselves for others; they don’t indulge on feelings and what they want. Castiel slips his hand down Dean’s arm, pulling his head away, careful to avoid Dean’s gaze. He takes a shaky step back, while searching for words to explain this away.

                “I’m sorry, Dean. I just …”

                Dean tightens his hold onto Cas’s wrist, pulling him towards him once more—his other hand, traveling up the side of angel’s long coat. Cas looks up, confused, searching for answers on the man’s face; but Dean just casts his eyes down, while drawing their bodies closer.

                “Dean?”

                Dean doesn’t respond. With a final pull, the man’s chest falls flush with the angel’s. He lets his head turn and lie softly into the crook of Castiel’s neck—his lips, barely gracing his collar. Cas drops his jaw, letting it slide alongside Dean’s face.  He wraps his arms around the man, and Dean sinks his weight into his grip. Cas holds him up, wrapping his wings around them both. Dean melts in further and Cas wonders if he could sense the warmth of his feathers on his back.

                Dean inhales a rattled breath, cooling the skin along Cas’s neck. The angel grips tighter, waiting for whatever is about to escape the man’s lips— unsure of anything happening in this moment but certain that he doesn’t want to pull away. He knows Dean is safe, right here … right here, wrapped up in his wings. Dean is safe. The man begins to whisper, soft, delicate words that swirl up to Castiel’s ear. As he speaks, the angel feels the tears well in his eyes again.  He listens, only realizing just then, how scared Dean must be—how lost he must have felt ever since the mark formed on his arm. Castiel pulls him tighter, listening intently, like any good angel would—as the man he loves, prays.

                “God, please … listen to Cas” Dean whispers, sliding his cheek along his angel’s shoulder, “Please, I—I need help. “


End file.
